


Heartstrings

by SilverFlameAlchemist



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred plays Wingman, Blood and Injury, Bruce Doesn't Complain, Clark plays nurse, Clark takes zero shit, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanart, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Not Even Injuries Can Keep Them From Fucking, Poor Life Choices, Protective Clarke, Stubborn-Ass Bruce, SuperBat, injured Bruce, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFlameAlchemist/pseuds/SilverFlameAlchemist
Summary: "New Message from Alfred." Clark smiled, opening it, expecting a question about his availability for dinner, or a polite "should I bother making up the spare room?", but what he received was far from what he had been hoping for. "Please come at earliest convenience. Refusing hospitalization."





	

* * *

Clark slumped in front of his computer, letting out a sigh as he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes, a slight burning reminding him how long he had been sitting in front of the screen, staring aimlessly at the typeface that confronted him. He was meant to be editing a piece for his boss, cleaning it up for the new kid before he turned it in for final edits and printing, but his head was elsewhere, so his heart wasn't in it.

Bruce had been short with him on the phone earlier, curt as he told him he didn't need his help on patrol, and Clark felt like he had done something wrong; somehow offended the other brunette. He had been listening for Bruce's voice for most of the evening, just in case, but gave up after his boss caught him zoning out for the fourth time.

He loved Bruce, more deeply than he thought the billionaire knew, but his job was probably more important than keeping tabs on a partner that hadn't wanted his help in the first place.

He returned his glasses to their proper place, blinking his eyes hard several times as he took another swig of coffee and returned his attention to the screen. He edited another paragraph before his phone vibrated in his pocket and he retrieved it, flicking an eyebrow at the notification.

 _New Message from Alfred_.

Clark smiled, opening it, expecting a question about his availability for dinner, or a polite _"should I bother making up the spare room?"_ , but what he received was far from what he had been hoping for. The list was concise, without elaboration or pretext, and the further Clark read, the further his stomach dropped.

_Four cracked ribs. One broken. Two bullet wounds. Eight stitches in left shoulder. Fifteen in abdomen. Two in scalp. Signs of mild concussion._

It read like a grocery list, and Alfred didn't have to explain for Clark to know exactly what he was describing. He felt his stomach begin to churn, his mouth going dry as his fingers hovered, shaking, above the screen, mind blank for what to reply.

_Please come at earliest convenience. Refusing hospitalization._

Clark ground his teeth together, slamming the phone onto his desk and powering through the rest of the document. He saved it, printed off a copy, and snatched up his coat and phone as he hurried to his boss's office.

He typed out his reply as he passed the printer, snatching up the edited article as he went, dropping into the box beside the frosted glass door, raised voices warning him not to enter.

_On my way. Try to make him eat. No alcohol._

He already knew Alfred would be aware of both of these suggestions, but it made him feel better to repeat them regardless.

"Hey, Lois, if the Boss asks, I went home for the evening."

"Sure thing, Smallville." She looked him over as he tugged his coat on, mashing the button for the elevator hard enough to crack its surface. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He flashed a smile he hoped would put her mind at ease. "Just have a massive headache I need to deal with."

* * *

"Where is he?"

It had taken Clark roughly forty seconds to fly from Metropolis to Gotham, a flash of red and blue across the evening sky, and he now stood by the back door to the Wayne manor, a sour expression directed toward Alfred.

He pretended not to notice the pink-tinged hands of the butler as he motioned him inside, the skin still raw from scrubbing away blood, or the scent of bleach that assaulted his nose, wafting from one of the stainless steel sinks in the corner of the kitchen.

"He is upstairs, Mr. Kent." Alfred replied. "I have not informed him of your arrival. I thought it best you speak to him before he had a chance to try and make up a case for himself."

Clark nodded once, flying through the kitchen and up the stairs toward Bruce's room. He hovered in front of the door for a second, peering through the door to get a sense of how bad Bruce really was. He was met with a blank slate, both the door and walls lead-lined, keeping Clark from seeing who or what was inside.

For a moment he felt something cold sink into his stomach, the thought that Bruce wanted that badly to keep him out of his life hurt more than it should have, but he quickly shook his head, reminding himself that Bruce was entitled to privacy in his own home, especially since he knew the sorts of things that went on in that room on a regular basis.

He floated back to the ground, taking a deep breath before he opened the door and slipped inside.

Bruce glanced up from his seat near the center of the room, lips parting in surprise as he caught sight of him, but didn't move. There was a faint scent of bleach here, too, hidden under the overwhelming tang of blood, but there was no sign of the implements used to treat the billionaire.

"Clark." Bruce rasped out, voice crackling at the edges with the effort of speaking. "Did Alfred…?"

"He told me what happened." Clark interrupted, looking Bruce over from his spot by the door. "You're an idiot, Bruce."

"You didn't have to come all this way." Bruce deflected the accusation, his right shoulder giving a tiny hop. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Clark shot back, fists clenching at his sides. "Why didn't you _call me_?"

"I thought I could handle it."

"Oh, yes, because you're _Batman_ , and you can handle _anything_." Clark growled, stalking forward. "Except you're also _flesh and bone_ , and you can't handle _everything_."

Bruce's gaze dipped to the floor, lips pressing together in a thin line of disapproval. He swallowed thickly, tongue darting out in a nervous tell to lick his lips before he began his counter argument. Before he could get out a single word, though, Clark had cradled the back of his head in one hand, hiding his face in Bruce's neck as he braced himself against the back of the chair, careful to keep all of his weight off the injured man.

"Please stop it." He whispered. " _Please_ , Bruce, I can't lose you."

There was a long moment of silence, neither man moving or speaking, before Bruce gingerly ran his fingers through Clark's hair, resting his hand against the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry I didn't call." He whispered back. "I should have. I will, next time."

"Don't let there _be_ a next time." Clark's voice cracked, the fight going out of him as he sank onto his knees, hand sliding from Bruce's neck to his chest, fingers playing over old scars and fresh bandages. "Bruce, you have to be more careful. You're not like me, you can't pretend you are."

Bruce smiled faintly, stroking his thumb along Clark's cheek. "I was caught off guard tonight. It won't happen again. Next time I get in over my head, _if_ I get in over my head, I will call."

Clark turned to press a soft kiss to his palm, sighing against the warm, calloused skin. "You promise?"

Bruce chuckled. "I promise."

"Good."

They stayed like that for another long moment, Clark looking at the damage done to Bruce's ribs, and Bruce ignoring the stares in favor of playing with Clark's hair, absently running his fingers through it, pulling it back gently whenever Clark's gaze started to wander.

"You'd make a great nurse." Bruce teased.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Clark shot back, an eyebrow winging up. "Can't you hire a whole fleet of nurses?"

"None of them would be as thorough as you." Bruce winked. "Besides, where else am I going to get someone who can give me x-rays without taking me to the hospital?"

"Alfred told me about that, too." Clark frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to go in?"

"And tell them what, exactly?" He asked, chuckling. "Yes, hello, I was stopping a crime lord from unloading contraband into your city. Oh, my name? Batman. Yes, all one word. No, no last name."

Clark rolled his eyes, scooping Bruce up into his arms, carrying him to the bed. "Well at least lay in bed like a normal convalescent."

"I couldn't make it over here before." Bruce admitted softly, holding onto Clark with his good arm. "Everything aches."

Clark laid him against the armada of pillows, frowning faintly. "Where?"

Bruce flicked an eyebrow at him. " _Everywhere_."

Clark smirked faintly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Arms?"

"Both."

"And your abdomen, of course. Cracked, broken ribs _and_ a laceration."

"Of course."

"And I imagine your head hurts too, probably."

"Definitely."

Clark smiled, leaning in to kiss Bruce's forehead, earning a soft hum of appreciation in return. "I might have something that will help."

"You'll open my stitches." Bruce murmured, hands already alighting on Clark's shoulders, pulling him closer despite his protests.

"Not if I'm careful." Clark grinned back, pressing a soft kiss to the bandages on his left shoulder. "You know I can be gentle, too."

"Your cape will get in the way." Bruce continued his half-hearted disputes, giving the cape in question a playful tug.

"Oh, that's simple." Clark stood from the bed, winking. "I'll just take it off."

Bruce watching in silent fascination as Clark removed the cape and costume, blue and red giving way to rippling, tanned muscle. He settled back over Bruce with a smile, stretching with a smirk as Bruce slid reverent hands over his sides, pulling him closer again.

"There. That's better, isn't it?" He asked.

" _Much_." Bruce pulled him into a kiss, sliding his hands over Clark's back, exploring the well-known terrain once more.

"Your ribs are grating together." Clark whispered, pushing Bruce back against the pillows. "The swelling's getting worse."

Bruce let out a soft groan, giving Clark a flat look. "You're ruining this."

"You like having me as your scantily-clad nurse. You've said so before."

Clark blew gently over Bruce's ribs, frosted breath cooling the hot skin, reducing the swelling over his ribs and stitches. Bruce let out a sigh, relaxing into the bedding, eyes fluttering as goosebumps rose over his skin.

"Clark." He complained with a grin. "Now I'm cold."

He laughed, rolling his eyes, and draped himself over Bruce, keeping his weight carefully off the major injuries, using his body like a blanket. He kissed along Bruce's neck in slow, lazy kisses, rolling his hips lightly into Bruce's.

" _Clark_." Bruce bit out, pushing at his shoulders lightly. "You _will_ pop my stitches."

"I'll put them back in if I do." Clark promised, blowing cold air over the stitches on his shoulder. "I just… I need this. I need to know you're safe. Feel you here, with me, intact."

Bruce smoothed his hands down Clark's chest, smiling softly. "I'm sorry I worried you, Supes."

Clark grinned, kissing the stitches on Bruce's head. "I know, Bats."

"Now are you going to warm me up, or are you just going to keep teasing me?" Bruce prompted, canting his head to one side, batting his eyes up at his lover.

"You sure you want me to?" Clark teased back, winking. "Maybe I should just keep you on ice for a little while… Might do you better than being all hot and bothered."

"You look me in the eye and tell me endorphins won't make me feel better."

"Burst stitches won't."

Bruce pushed himself up on one arm, catching Clark's throat with his lips, sucking gently on his pulse as he skated a hand along his side, pulling his hips back into his own. He kissed his way up to Clark's ear, whispering low.

"Put your hands on me, Kent. I need this just as much as you."

Clark let out a muffled sound, turning to whisper back.

"If you get blood on the sheets—"

"I'll buy new ones." Bruce licked up the ridge of Clark's ear. "A whole fleet. Just _touch me_."

Clark did as he was told, a hand holding Bruce's back as he lowered him carefully down onto the bed once more. He moved slowly, deliberately taking his time to draw out the few precious moments they were managing to steal, the same way he did each time he caught Bruce in a back alley after a particularly nasty fight; or after a long, boring press conference when Mr. Wayne agreed to a private interview with Mr. Kent.

Bruce hummed in satisfaction, falling into the familiar rhythm without having to think about it. When Clark was in control, everything was soft and slow, a waltz the two of them shared. If Bruce was leading, things were faster and rougher, a quick tango between the sheets or in a back street, costumes tugged loose but rarely fully removed.

Clark's mouth alternated between searing hot and freezing cold, his tongue trailing wet paths over Bruce's skin, frigid breath causing a shudder and a soft sound of approval soon after. Hot kisses were made with an open mouth, covering his own or finding a weak spot along his neck, the tiniest hint of teeth a reminder to keep still and not try to take control.

Bruce enjoyed Clark's careful, tender attention, but he sometimes got a bit impatient.

"You taste like blood." Clark whispered, kissing his way down Bruce's torso, tongue playing over his unbandaged ribs.

"Alfred cleaned me up as best he could." Bruce panted softly. "Showers were out of the question, though."

"I'll take one with you in the morning." Clark smirked, thumbs sliding into the waistband of the loose pants Bruce was wearing. "I'll be sure to clean you up."

"Once you get me dirty, you mean?" Bruce chuckled; watching as Clark smirked, tugging down gently on the fabric, Bruce arching his back as best he could to facilitate their removal.

"Oh, _absolutely_ , Mr. Wayne." Clark kissed him again, soft and slow, winking as he pulled away. "Whatever _you_ _say_ , Mr. Wayne."

Bruce's hands slid over his hips, rubbing circles into the sensitive skin, and he pulled the Kryptonian in for another kiss, rougher and sloppier than the first, teeth catching Clark's bottom lip and worrying it gently back and forth. A soft gasp caught in Clark's throat as Bruce pulled away, smirking.

" _Whatever_ I say, Mr. Kent?" He teased, canting his head to one side as he looked his lover over slowly.

Clark nodded; a flush rising in his cheeks at the predatory gaze Bruce was throwing his way, aware of where it usually landed them (The bathroom of a dive bar, a rooftop in downtown, the hood of the Batmobile, Bruce's shower, and even the break room of the Daily Planet, on one particularly adventurous night).

There was a soft growl in Bruce's voice as he pulled Clark back down, crashing their lips together in a dominating kiss, a soft whine of want leaving Clark as he struggled to keep himself elevated.

"Then you'd best keep listening."

**Author's Note:**

> Superman/Batman and all related characters belong to: DC Comics, and their respective creators.


End file.
